“You’ll get him in a minute,” encouraged Baxter. “He never was any good with the war-club.”
Much to Cooper’s sorrow, this prophecy came true, for Chipper finally hoisted a short one back of first for Turner, the baseman, to gather in.
“Only three more men, Grant,” said Nelson. “Get them, and we hang up a scalp.”
“I’ll sure do it if it’s in me,” whispered the Texan to himself, as he made his way to the diamond.
Baxter rushed to the bench to have a few words with his players.
“Don’t be too eager, fellows,” he cautioned; “and still, don’t let him sneak any good ones across. He’s pitching for his life now, but he’ll try to pull you all. If you can start us going, Foxy, we’ll crawl out of this hole right here.”
Making no retort, Foxhall stepped into the batters’ box and watched the Oakdale pitcher make the situation more difficult for himself by failing to find the pan with the first two pitches. An in-shoot followed, and, remembering Baxter’s words, Foxhall picked it off the inside corner with a sharp swing that sent it grass-cutting ten feet inside of third.
Roy Hooker, who was filling Osgood’s position, was not an infielder, and, although he leaped in front of the ball, he failed to keep his feet together, which allowed the humming sphere to go through him cleanly.
“Ha! Look a’ that!” cried Shultz, giving Osgood a nudge. “That would never have happened if you’d been there.”
“Don’t make comparisons—don’t,” said Osgood quickly. “They are odious. He’s going to stretch it into a double.”